Fall to Fly
by xbballbolin
Summary: Because sometimes you've gotta fall from grace, from who you've been, away from everything you've ever known before you can spread your wings and fly. Season 6 AU
1. Prelude: A New Hope

**Author's Note**: Chapter One (if you guys show interest.) will be based post season 5. After that the OTHverse setup pretty much goes out the window. However I did continue with certain concepts like X attacking Brooke, and a Walker but it's not Sam (no disrespect to the character or anything). It's our new OCC Canaan Walker who is returning to his mother's hometown in the hopes of finding sanctuary. Couples will be decided per request so be sure to review people! Not enough attention means I will scrap the story. Sorry but that's just the way it is.

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(… .(_\.../_)… )

{ _"...=-... } _ _ _ _ {.. .-=..."_}  
>x5urf th3 3dg3<br>presents  
>Fall to Fly<br>A One Tree Hill FanFiction  
>by Sara Bolin<br>dedicated to Sarah  
>{_.."… … … … … … …""(_}<p>

**Summary:** Because sometimes you've gotta fall from grace, from who you've been, away from everything you've ever known before you can spread your wings and fly. Season 6 AU

Prelude: A New Hope

xXx  
>To your grave I spoke<br>Holding a red, red rose  
>Gusts of freezing cold air<br>Whisper to me, that you are gone  
>xXx<p>

An oval shaped tear slipped down the curvature of his right cheek, salty liquid streaming steadily and making a track down to his jaw line. It was the first tear he'd shed since he was thirteen and learned of her illness. After that he'd convinced himself that he couldn't cry because he had to be strong for her and be her rock while she cried, her strength when she was weak.

But now she was gone so what difference did it make?

Chiseled features clench as cerulean irises stare at his mother's name engraved in sheetrock rereading it with an incessant nature; the illusion that maybe someday, somehow they'd change ever present in his mind. Yet, it stays the same, gleaming back at him like a devilish kind of taunt.

Delilah Winifred Walker  
>1978-2010<br>'May the road rise to meet you.'

The bottom line was scribbled on with metallic paint due to his lack of finances and a particularly jerky, funeral director who only offered the bare minimum. Calloused fingertips traipsed across the words so delicately that they barely touched for fear of wiping them away after spending a good chunk of time writing them on there.

Time. God, he'd grown tired of battling with the paradoxical concept! There's so much of it but never enough and it seemed he was always trying to outrun it before it outran him. Even now, as he says goodbye to his mother, time is racing against him. How many minutes, how many seconds would it take for the people of social services to find he'd evaded their grasp? How long would it take for someone to spot him and send him back? How long before the man he'd callously referred to as the sperm donor came to claim him as his own and drag him to hell?

He didn't want to stick around long enough to find out.

"Hey Ma'. This is probably going to be my last visit for awhile. Ya' see uh," he pauses a minute really struggling in breaking the news. "He who shall not be named stumbled upon your obituary and now he's contesting the will. You'd think that spending the past decade on the run would be a clear indicator we don't want anything to do with that sorry excuse of a—you know what I mean."

A bitter, dry laugh is expelled into the air as he wipes the tears from his cheek and their tracks with the sleeve of the Diesel leather jacket. It wasn't fair… nothing ever was. Judge Leo Walker was a lot of things to a lot of people. The Judge was tough but fair to a majority of those who enter his courtroom. To others he was a corrupt judge known to take bribes from all the right people. But to his son, Canaan Walker, Leo was the man that'd hit the bottle a little too hard after work then hit his mother even harder; he even beat Canaan once… and it wound up being the last time he hit either Canaan or Delilah. That night, she took him from that world, freed him from sleepless nights and fear.

And he didn't look back then… so why should he now?

"Anyways, he wants custody and without any reported records of abuse, alcohol or otherwise, he's gonna win it. They're gonna give it to him but they're not gonna give him me. He can't have me. 'Cause he'll have to catch me first."

The edges of his lips curl up into the smirk that always seemed to be constantly etched into pouty lips. His momma used to say the boy was all fire and that smirk signified the intention of never burning out. No matter what life threw at the teenage underdog he came back swinging. For a moment blue orbs disappear beneath heavy lids and he could practically see her in his head rolling her eyes at him and shaking her head back and forth… pearly whites gleaming at him the entire time as she said, _'Canaan Flynn Walker, you best be keepin' outa' trouble 'cause there ain't no way we could afford to bail your ass out'a jail. Ya' hear!'_

Opening his eyes, the teenager shakes his head and responds with a bittersweet sadness etched in his tone and he uncross his legs and climbs up off the fresh cut grass, "Don't worry about me, Ma'. Somebody once told me of a place where everything's better and everything's safe… and that's where I'm headed."

xXx  
>Spent a lifetime of holding on just to let go<br>I guess I'll spend another lifetime  
>searching for a new hope.<br>xXx

Want to read more of this fic?  
>Well there's a simple trick!<br>All you have to do  
>Is take the time and review!<p> 


	2. Chapter One: Realize

_**Summary:**__ Because sometimes you've gotta fall from grace, from who you've been, away from everything you've ever known before you can spread your wings and fly. Season 6 AU._

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(… .(_\.../_)… )

{ _"...=-... } _ _ _ _ {.. .-=..."_}  
>x5urf th3 3dg3<br>presents  
>Fall to Fly<br>A One Tree Hill FanFiction  
>by Sara Bolin<br>dedicated to Sarah  
>{_.."… … … … … … …""(_}<p>

Chapter One: Realize

xXx  
>If you just realize what I just realized<br>Then we'd be perfect for each other and we'll never find another  
>Just realize what I just realized<br>We'd never have to wonder if we missed out on each other now  
>xXx<p>

Of all the things he'd come to fear the most, this was definitely at the top of his list: to take his best friend's sage advice to stop hiding his heart from himself and the rest of the world. She said it with such an easy fluidity that it sounded like writing your name on the top of the paper instead of the rest of the big exam. And maybe it was that easy for Haley because she'd been following it for so long. But not Lucas Scott. Lucas had been running from his heart for so long that the walls surrounding the simple truth within had grown so tall that The Great Wall of China look miniscule in comparison.

But he started chipping away none the less, determined to find the truth, the absolute that'd been hiding in his heart because he wanted to let himself be happy. He wanted to stop hiding his heart. He listened to Lindsey's voicemail and soaked in Peyton's message on the court and that sent a few bricks tumbling but not enough to cause more than a dent. Then he wanted to go check on Brooke and take time away from his quest.

That's when they crumbled and he'd realized the undeniable truth standing on the opposite side of the wall. There was no past tense in his love for Brooke Davis… in fact, he'd been in love with her all along but settled for the rest of the world feeling that if Keith and Karen couldn't have their one and only, why should he be so lucky? It wasn't to say he never loved Lindsey or Peyton… he just never loved them the way he loved Brooke Davis.

…Nor would he ever.

So he decided to stop running and make his stand. Picking up the phone, shaking fingers dialed her number, fingers so frantic in their endeavors that it takes a few tries. The first ring about damn near stops his heart, the second starts it back up and the third… well he'll never know because she answers, that soft sweet feminine rasp that was as original as Brooke Davis herself on the other end of the line.

"Hey, it's me," he starts swallowing against the overwhelming sensation of his throat feeling like it was closing up. "Look, I'm at the airport and I've got two tickets to Las Vegas. Do you wanna get married tonight?"

Silence. Dead silence rung out in deafening tones on the other end of the phone and Lucas Scott vaguely wondered if she dropped the phone or maybe even flat out hung up on him. He couldn't say he could blame her either way. A sweaty hand held his cell phone tightly desperately trying to hold onto it though it was starting to feel like trying to hang onto the bar of soap. There was no expectation of a response, no belief that she'd say a fixed statement but he could honestly say her reaction caught him off guard.

Laughter. The unmistakable sound of laughter booms through the speaker causing his eyebrows to slightly rise as obvious confusion transforms the usually brooding features. Leave it to Brooke to leave him guessing. He goes to question what's so funny when she finally speaks.

"I don't know, Luke. An impromptu proposal is a little too Naley for me," she teases not realizing that the question he asked very well may be the most important question he's ever asked or will ever ask for that matter.

And he couldn't stop the edges of his lips from curling up into a smile. Leave it to her to completely destroy his big moment and leave him smiling. "Fine, no marriage proposal but after the past few weeks we've had, Vegas is still on the table. Whataya' say?"

Truth be told, he didn't think his heart could take another no and it wouldn't have surprised him a bit if a no sent him crashing down onto the dark blue ocean of carpeting below. Eagerly he waited as she contemplated the statement and he just then realized he'd been holding his breath when she gives her answer.

"Yeah, sure… um, I'm just finishing up over at Clothes over Bro's so let me go pack up some clothes and I'll meet you at the airport."

xXx

Brooke Davis found herself smiling one of those dimply smiles that always took his breath away after her conversation with Lucas Scott. It's the kind of smile that was contagious; one look and you're caught in its gravity until you crash into it and it takes over your lips as well. Just moments ago, her heartache sent her to the drawing board, the hope of finding creativity through the insanity that is the thick shroud of loss on her mind. But now, all she wanted to do was go home and pack for the great escape they were about to make.

Slender fingers took hold of the sketch pad as she stood from her place in the counter and made her way over to the white cabinetry. Then she put it into the only drawer with a lock on it and stored them in there being sure to lock it so her mother- and she used the term loosely- wouldn't get her talons into them like she had Brooke.

After that, she went through the process of closing up. It's a process she's done a million times and would probably wind up doing it a million more times before she was done. One this time was different… a one in a million occurrence that chose today of all days and this moment of all moments to happen in.

As she goes to open the door juggling her purse and keys in her hands, somebody else is already turning the knob and whipping it open with more force exuded than necessary. Obviously startled, the brunette relinquishes her grip on her possessions jumping back and throwing her arms out in an attempt to defend herself.

But it's too late. Strong arms latch onto hers and force her back. There's a sadistic grin ever present on his face and the dark, almost soulless looking, eyes that peered through the holes in the black ski mask told Brooke that she was just in her fear. She should be afraid… terrified even. Because one moment could make or break or break you and one moment could be your last moment. All she could do is pray this isn't that moment.

xXx

_Add fuel to the fire,  
>And help inspire.<br>REVIEW!_

_Author's note: Hey everybody. I hope you enjoyed this chapter… I know I enjoyed writing it. And I just wanted to take a moment to stop and thank those of you that took the time to review. It definitely lights a fire under my but and gets me updating faster. And I know a lot of people have what I call created character phobia so it made my week to see that didn't stop some of you from taking the time to review and show interest in this story. So again, thank you to the following and I hope my little fanfic keeps getting such feedback._

_Brookescott13  
>dianehermans<br>pam  
>cRiMsOnGoDdEsS01<br>may92_


	3. Chapter Two: The Fighter

_**Summary:**__ Because sometimes you've gotta fall from grace, from who you've been, away from everything you've ever known before you can spread your wings and fly. Season 6 AU._

**_Author's Note: Sorry if the change of my penname is confusing. My dear ole' dad kept complaining because he couldn't remember x5urf th3 3dg3 and after much nagging I caved. lol. _**

_.- -" "- -._

(… .(_\.../_)… )

{ _"...=-... } _ _ _ _ {.. .-=..."_}  
>xbballbolin<br>presents  
>Fall to Fly<br>A One Tree Hill FanFiction  
>by Sara Bolin<br>{_.."… … … … … … …""(_}

Chapter Two: The Fighter

xXx  
>Maybe we were meant to be lonely, lonely<br>Maybe we were meant to be on our own,  
>Loneliness has always been with me, with me<br>Maybe we don't have to be all alone  
>xXx<p>

Across the dirty countryside he'd been roaming, a nomad kicking up that North Carolina clay as he made his way to Tree Hill on the only Earthly possession he had to his name other than the clothes on his back- a 2010 Harley Davidson Softail Deluxe Motorcycle with a beautiful flame blue pearl paint job that matched the t-shirt he wore beneath the leather jacket he was rarely seen without. On these quieter roads, away from the hustle and bustle of city life, his speed increases with a gleeful sounding roar of the engine.

At 55…65…75…85 miles per hour he moves wasting little time in his quest to make it to the town that held a world of infinite possibilities. To most the sleepy little town of Tree Hill is just a place on the map they pass through to get to their final destination but for Canaan Walker, Tree Hill is the closest he can get to heaven. When he was a little boy, his mother didn't lull him to sleep with lullabies or fairytales but told him of a sleepy little town that she called home and that one day, when the dust settled and they weren't running, they'd return to.

She told him about the place where everything's better and everything's safe, about a basketball court by the river where the limits of gravity felt like they didn't apply and players soared, about an auto-shop that the car enthusiast he was as a child longed to see. And a year or two ago, she bought a paperback book titled the _Unkindness of Ravens_ telling him that she knew the author back when he was in diapers. So it only made sense that he go to this place that she felt she was a part of and maybe… just maybe, if the town is as magical as she clamed it to be, he'll find a piece of her there.

xXx  
>The fighter goes inside,<br>The dawn is creepin' in,  
>He swings with all his might,<br>At all that mattered then,  
>xXx<p>

Late in the night, while the rest of the world slept, the VRRAAOOM of the nomad's bike echoed out as a warning to the town that he had arrived. And down the main drag he coasted looking back and forth at the buildings in search of the quaint little café he'd heard so much about. Everything seemed in place, like she said but the building he searched for that was supposed to be on the corner wasn't there. Instead stood a building with the words Clothes Over Bro's on the window.

Cutting the engine and pulling into a spot across from the building he looked through the windows and past the displays to the wall of white cabinetry and lavender paint where a woman with chocolate locks that brushed her shoulders as she hovered over her sketch pad biting her lip slightly in concentration. She was gorgeous, undeniably so, but it didn't matter how aesthetically pleasing she was because she wasn't the woman he was looking for. Climbing off his bike, Canaan pulls off his helmet and stares a moment longer with brows furrowed.

This threw a wrench into his master plan, a wrench he wasn't sure he'd have enough time to deal with. His contemplation is compromised when he sees her look up from her sketching and familiarity struck his heart. Who was this woman and where had he seen her face before? Thinking she was looking right at him instead of just staring off into space, the teen quickly dove out of sight not wanting her to get the wrong impression when he wasn't even sure whether or not he'd need to make one.

It felt like he held his breath as she got up from her stool and he probably had because once she answered the phone and turned her back to him he took a sharp intake of breath that expelled in a sigh of relief. Running his hands through his helmet hair, reviving it from its flattened state, it clicked who this woman was. Clothes over Bro's. Brooke Davis. He'd seen her on page six a time or two and when they opened a store in Austin, his mother said that was her friend Vickie's girl, Brooke and he'd read about her in Lucas Scott's book.

One look at her and he knew she was everything the author wrote; brilliant, brave, beautiful… emphasis on the beautiful. He watches her as she hangs up the phone and decides that it must've been one hell of a phone call judging by the way she lit up. There's a smile on her face that's warm and inviting as she hurries around the room, a kind of smile that draws you in and it slips onto his face as he starts out of the alley he stood in.

But suddenly that smile disappears from his face in the surreal moment he catches a dark figure climbing out of a car and racing her way from the corner of his eye. The rest happens in a blink, a flash. The man forces his way into the boutique and the shrill screams of terror tore through the air. The surreal moment is so dark, so heinous, that most wouldn't believe their eyes or would slip into a moment of shock. But not Canaan.

Even at the ripe young age of seventeen, Canaan didn't have the luxury of being naive to what the world really is; he didn't get to believe it was all sunshine and rainbows and magic. No he knew it as a dangerous place where darkness looms and if you're lucky enough, there might be someone around to push back the darkness for a bit. He just hoped that his feet could pound the pavement hard enough to get to her in time. Jean clad legs propelled forward, up into Clothes Over Bro's.

And by the time he reaches the assailant, he's flipped a switch reverting to a weaponized way that's been crafted by adapting to life's challenges and three years of mixed martial arts. Running up the step-styled display- the masked man had thrown Brooke over and now stood on the opposite side of wailing away on her- the hero moved shouting out to catch the malevolent monster's attention. Startled by the third party appearance, the masked man's attention snaps toward the voice with his body twisting just enough for Canaan's lunge to have its desired effect. The wildcard warrior drives into him like a hungry lineman after the quarterback behind the line of scrimmage. Force behind the connection sent both men back into the display cubbies knocking dresses down as they battled.

They shuffled about madly, massive fists hands beat down on the back of Canaan desperate to get relinquished from his hold around his waist but it was a vice grip that'd take a licking and keep on ticking. Canaan was in control slamming the man into the wooden dividers of the displays in a repetitive onslaught. It isn't until the masked man cries out in pain that Canaan repositions them, moving the man back over the step-styled display to distance them from Brooke. Strong legs press off the ground in the best leap he could muster and they go crashing over it and into the unforgiving linoleum tiling beneath but he's too high of the adrenaline coursing through his veins to pay attention to the downward collision.

Instead he relinquishes his hold and shifts atop Xavier, his fist colliding with the man with the same malevolent force that mirrored his assault on Brooke. One swing, two swings, the force behind so strong that he could practically feel the man's cheekbone crack beneath his punch. Pulling back for a third swing, the teenager drew back enough for the masked man to reach down into his boot and grab the knife concealed within, the cowardice of the man shining through. As Canaan swings down, his weight behind the punch with the hopes of a knockout blow, the man shifts, slipping under the punch and slicing at Canaan's arm. A quick swipe was all the potentially murderous fiend got before forcing Canaan off him and letting his fight or flight instinct shift in the opposite direction as Canaan's response.

Scrambling to his feet the man raced up and out the door fleeing as fast as humanly possible. Canaan shuffled back up onto his feet, the attempt to push himself up with his bad arm delaying his reaction just enough for the man to evade his grasp. Once on his feet, the teen stumbles in the direction of the door, wanting nothing more than to catch him but it was frivolous. Groaning in frustration, Canaan runs the hand of his uninjured arm through his messy dirty blond locks and rests on the back of his head, his eyes never leaving the world outside of the boutique.

That is until the foreign feminine voice cuts through the air catching his attention.

xXx  
>What breaks your bones,<br>Is not the load you're carryin',  
>What breaks you down,<br>Is all in how you carry...  
>xXx<p>

Brooke Davis laid defenseless on the ground feeling the force of bare knuckles being slammed into her face multiple times and just when her pain threshold was beginning to be tested the cry out of a masculine voice husky with intent roared out and the beating stopped. After another series of bangs and booms the brunette business owner finally found the strength within to force her eyes open despite the vicious sting of her right eye that'd undoubtedly be black by morning and, though it takes her a moment, the resilient brunette forced herself to sit upright… her bones feeling as if they're made with a lead=like heaviness.

That's when she sees the young man with his back to her peering out at the quiet little slice of town that was oblivious to the war that'd waged within the store. It wasn't the man that'd attacked her so he must have been her white knight in that moment, the man that pulled her from the fire and very well may have saved her life.

"Thank you," she found herself saying, her lips speaking before her head could decide what she was gonna say.

His attention snapped to her almost immediately, an almost startled aspect shining through in his demeanor. How it was he could spit in the face of death but be afraid of confused her as she took a moment to commit his face to memory. He's handsome, devilishly so, with features that bear a striking resemblance to that of a finely carved Michelangelo statue: classical straight nose, perfectly sculpted cheekbones, strong jawed, and lips that any girl his age would dream about kissing. He pushes back his bangs of his messy mane of dirty ash blonde hair and she can't help but feel a familiarity in his face though she quickly writes it off as the classic rugged romance novel look he has about him- the dreamy mystical appearance combined with a strong compelling aura- that she looks for in the men that modeled for her line.

Flanked by long, black lashes, she blinks as he watches her never faltering in his stare and nodding as a substitute for 'you're welcome'. Then he begins to cross the distance between them when she realizes he looks at her the same way she looks at him; they look on with uncertainty not knowing how to feel about one another's presence. But he could see the pain in her features and he replaces the look with one of genuine concern. Squatting down beside her, he asks the question she didn't know the answer to.

"Are you alright, Ms. Davis?"

It was a question, she didn't know how to answer. A man just violated the safe haven that was Clothes Over Bros shattering the belief that magic guarded the door and she was safe here and she truly didn't know how to feel about that… but Brooke Davis being, well, Brooke Davis, she buried the hurt deep within not wanting to have the rest of the world see her vulnerability. That way, the masked man would have won.

"Yeah," she says just above a wisper. "'M fine."

A sad smile etches itself into his features, eating away at his lips as he nodded slowly trying desperately to be okay with her answer and let it lie. "Sure you are," he says in a tone mirroring hers holding out a hand with bloodied knuckles for her to take wanting to help her out a bit more by helping her up off the ground. Seeing a hesitation in her reach, he locks eyes with her to let her know he's not lying before he speaks. "I know most people that say it aren't but you can trust me."

She goes to smile at him but it's forced, her heart not in it and it kills him that a chance moment could risk changing the girl that was described in Lucas Scott's book so he hopes that it's just because her lips is split and it hurts to smile… not that she lost a bit of that fire that made her the girl he was rooting for in the book. Just when he starts to lose the hopeful illusion, her hand slips into his and he extends his legs slowly lifting the both of them up.

She catches the wince he makes as she applies pressure to his hand, not noticing the cuts on his knuckles until then. Knowing she saw the crimson liquid splashed across his knuckles, he pulled his hand from hers, not wanting to give her another thing to worry about. It felt surreal that he felt protective of this woman. He didn't even know her but if Lucas's book was an accurate depiction of her, she reminded him of his mother, warm hearted with a fire blazing within that could warm even the coldest of souls. But it was too late and she did see it.

"Are you okay?" she asks with concern etched in her brow.

"I'm fine," he immediately snaps failing in his assurance.

Because, in that moment, she sees the slice in the leather of his jacket on the other arm and the liquid pooling out of it. Concern causes her to reach out and take him by the elbow, inches below the wound across his bicep. She couldn't believe he'd gotten hurt to such an extent for her… because of her. All he wanted to do was help, and this was his reward. How was it fair?

"That doesn't look fine," she insists.

He pulls his arm from the gentle hold she had and took a step back not wanting her to suggest that he go to a hospital. One record of injury, one description match on a record and his father would find him and he'd rather bleed to death than have that happen. He slams up defensive walls distancing himself from Brooke and evading the subject, his tone sharp as he speaks.

"Stop trying to be a doctor and go see one," he spits turning his back to her and staring for the exit but finds himself stopping to turn back not wanting her to do what he thought she would. "And if you feel as indebted as I think you do, then do me this favor. Don't let this beat you… because, if you do, then he wins."

With those words being his final worlds the teen pushes his uninjured shoulder into the door to open it. She goes to chase after him but the pain in her side from the contact with the floor slows her. Hazel eyes run up and down the street for the boy but it's useless. He's gone like the thief in the night leaving Brooke alone with the haunting echo of his words… and she'd be damned if she let him win.

REVIEW!

Authors note: Oh my wow! I just wanted to say THANK YOU to all those that reviewed this past chapter! Nine Reviews on a single chapter is simply astounding! I cannot begin to describe how humbled and amazed I am by all your feedback!

Special thanks to those who reviewed last chapter and I dedicate this one to you all:

xConcr3t3 Jungl3 5urf3r  
>cRiMsOnGoDdEsS01<br>Pam  
>dianehermans<br>brookescott13  
>brooke rayne<br>Audrey. Salvatore. Northman  
>3 wishes<br>Miss Faber


	4. Three: Little Boy Lost, Little Boy Found

_**Summary:**__ Because sometimes you've gotta fall from grace, from who you've been, away from everything you've ever known before you can spread your wings and fly. Season 6 AU._

_.- -" "- -._

(… .(_\.../_)… )

{ _"...=-... } _ _ _ _ {.. .-=..."_}  
>xbballbolin<br>presents  
>Fall to Fly<br>A One Tree Hill FanFiction  
>{_.."… … … … … … …""(_}<p>

Chapter Four: Little boy lost, Little boy found.

Through the maze of white cinderblock walls Lucas ran, boots slapping against the linoleum flooring as he frantically sought out to find Brooke Davis. Behind him he could hear the calls of the nurse manning the nurses' station telling him that he couldn't go back there but even hell, fire, and brimstone wasn't going to stop Lucas from finding her so there was no way a petite nurse was going to. As quickly as his lean legs could propel him, he raced forward in search of the room she told him Brooke was being examined in.

He'd been sitting in the airport waiting for his dreams to come true when this nightmare took its hold… a unrecognized voice coming on the phone and telling him that there'd been a break in at the store and Brooke Davis had been hospitalized. Immediately, he feared the worst, and hadn't stopped running ever since. Dryness gathered in his throat as his lungs stressed for air; he finally stopped running and found the door of room 202.

Opening the door, Lucas's breath hitched in his throat and invisible claws slashed the hallows of his chest killing him slowly. He took in every bruise on the brunettes face and felt as though he was the one with them… her pain his pain as well. Stepping into the room, there's a concern blaring in his eyes, and as he spoke her name it was as breathless as when he said Keith's name after the school shoot and he'd heard news of Keith's death causing her to involuntarily flinch.

He swallowed pulling his messenger bag off his shoulder and casting it aside, careless as to where it landed. Blue drowned her hazel eyes… well eye since one was swollen shut until she couldn't take the way he sympathy seethed from him anymore. She hated being vulnerable even if he said it was beautiful. Carefully, he took a seat on the side of the bed, at first fearful that if he touched her then she'd crumble. But he quickly got over it needing to touch her to be there for and provide comfort. Between his thumb and pointer he cupped her chin and gently guided her to look at him.

"I promised myself I wouldn't cry," she whispers with her voice a little rough like it she was on the verge of tears. "He doesn't deserve my tears."

Lucas nods in understanding and agreement. He didn't deserve another minute, another second of Brooke's life. With an easy familiarity, Lucas wraps an arm around Brooke and she leans into his embrace as he lies back on the bed beside her and began talking to her like they were the only two people in the world, about anything and everything that could come to mind. She appreciated him being there for her, she truly did, but her mind was plagued with the boy that'd saved her. Was he okay? Where was he? Was he in a gutter somewhere bleeding to death?

"Luke, I need you to do something for me," she finally says lifting her head from his shoulder.

"Anything for you," he responds with that secret smile that only belongs to her.

Getting up and out of the bed, Brooke limped over to the visitor chair that her purse was sitting on and took the bag into her hands before opening it and pulling out a tablet of white paper. Flipping it open she fumbled through and found the page she'd been working on before he came despite a massive headache due to her concussion… the very reason they were keeping her here. Turning the tablet to Lucas, she revealed it and he was amazed. Turns out Brooke could draw more than dresses if she put her mind to it.

His brow furrowed as he took in the rough sketch of a boy in a black leather jacket and old t-shirt with his facial details filled in with an extensiveness which she didn't usually do when she designed.

"You want me to change my look?" he questions not quite following what she was getting at.

Climbing back into the bed, Brooke nudged the brooder rolling her eye at his foolishness and trying her best to smile through the pain.

"No, Luke. I need you to find him," she responds with an urgency in her tone.

"Is this the guy that did this to you," Luke asks, practically jumping up from the bed. "You gotta give this to the police because if I get my hands on the guy I'll kill him."

"This isn't him… h-he was wearing a mask. That's the boy that saved me but he got hurt in the process," she paused a moment, reflecting on the painful events of the night troubling her into silence until she could gather her composure again. "And I've got this really bad feeling that he needs saving too."

Lucas nods ripping the page from the tablet and folds it up before slipping it into his back pocket. This boy saved the woman he loved. To say he felt indebted to the teen was an understatement. Lucas was going to turn every stone, search every street, do anything and everything to find this kid and, at the very least, personally thanked him for saving her.

"Don't worry, Brooke. I'll find him."

He leans in and plants a gentle kiss on her forehead careful to avoid a particularly nasty looking bruise and started on his mission.

xXx

Despite his best attempts to suffer in silence, colorful curses spilled from the teenager's lips and echoed off the tiles of the washed out white bathroom. With such a long, ragged, and raw laceration, resistance was futile but he tried none the less by biting at his bottom lip and taking swigs of the Jack Daniels he used to sterilize the wound before beginning the painful process of stitching it up. Each bite of the needle felt worse than the initial slice but if he didn't take care of it, the risk of bleeding out would elevate and he didn't come to Tree Hell to die.

Quite the opposite actually.

xXx

In the darkest hours before dawn, Haley James-Scott was awoken from her nocturnal slumber by an incessant knock knocking on her door. For a brief second, the thought of waking Nathan and having him answer it crosses her mind, but the moment those warm brown eyes settled upon the slumbering man entrapped in a peaceful slumber, she decides against it. Pulling the sheets to the side, legs that feel like they're made of lead are dangled from the edge of the bed until they find hardwood and she pushes her fatigued body upright. Then she was quick to pad down the stairs and get to the door hoping to get to it before she wasn't the only one pulled from her slumber. She'd kill whoever was at the door if they woke up her super six year-old that never went to sleep without a war.

Lucky for the whoever it was, he was her best friend, Lucas Scott. There's an impatient nervousness in his demeanor that makes her want to hold her breath. Even in the face of danger Lucas was usually a rock, the man you wanted in your corner so seeing him sweating meant nothing good. She opens the door enough to let the blond brooder past and he turns back to her with the man-on-a-mission type of body language.

"M'sorry. I know it's late, but I need to look at your student rosters and any recent yearbooks if you have them," he explains in an abrupt fashion, gaze moving around like he's trying to think where the tools he needs would be.

"Alright, no problem," she says nodding her head slightly. "But what's going on, Luke?"

Hearing her use the shortened version of his name, he realizes he's probably weirding his best friend out or driving her to worry about him. So he takes a moment to catch a breath and pushes aside the fear of letting Brooke down and this boy die long enough to get himself in check. Calm. Cool. Collected.

"Brooke was attacked," he says flinching as his sister-in-law let out a gasp of shock and practically noted the cogs in her head turning with visuals of the worst things imaginable. "She's alright… just a little banged up but could've been a lot worse if this kid didn't come when he did."

He pulls the picture from his pocket and holds it out for the brunette to take. Once she did, her eyes roamed over the image of the kid and when he noticed they bore no recognition, he felt his hopes waiver slightly but continued with the tale, hoping to have an ally in his search endeavors.

"And, from what Brooke said, he got hurt but fled and I don't know. I was hoping you could help me find him before something bad happens to him."

xXx

That casual moment that comes with every step- the certainty of steady footedness that comes with years upon years of walking- is a feeling the teen finds solace in as he wanders through the town in search of a place to rest, a safe haven amongst the plans gone astray and curveballs thrown at him. And it wasn't until he made it there that he knew what he was looking for. The terrain beneath his feet transforms from pavement, to the squishiness of grass until he finds himself standing before the slab of concrete the basketball court was made of.

His head cocks slightly to the side as he examines the artistic display covering the expanse of the basketball court. It was beautifully detailed, the comet's collision into the lyrics breathtaking but it wasn't until he caught sight of the name that he felt really drawn in. Peyton as in Peyton Sawyer. The background story of the drawing made it more epic giving it an immeasurable depth and beauty. Shaking his head, he moved around the masterpiece unable to bring himself to step foot on it.

Instead he found a place on the picnic table, folding up his jacket and using it as a pillow staring upwards at the stars strewn across the nighttime sky. He vaguely wonders if there's really a heaven somewhere beyond the clouds. Maybe she was looking down on him now. Was she proud of him for what he'd done tonight or worried by the way he'd been handling himself… fearful that he was writing checks he may have no way of cashing. And judging by the discomfort he felt due to the bruising he'd sustained from that jackass beating on him, she may be right. Sighing heavily, the teen closes his eyes and wills himself to think positively, like she always wanted him to.

Tomorrow's gonna be a better day.

xXx

Nathan Scott pulled up to the river court despite the manhunt his wife and brother were on. He wants to help, and he will, but first he had to find Q at the river court like he promised because the teen wasn't answering his phone. Life's funny sometimes, he decides as in his quest to find Q he comes across the mystery boy his brother was currently wandering around aimlessly in search of. Turning off the car and unbuckeling his seatbelt, he climbs out of the car and sends Lucas a text before moving forward across the grass.

_Found Him. River Court. _


End file.
